‘Two weeks. I am sure you can wait that long. You can start to count down the days as from today.’ He smiled, and they came together in a final embrace. Then she retired to her bedroom at the back of the embassy and Sir Francis climbed upstairs to his.
Chapter 30
The Wedding
One day she mentioned that she would like to go for a walk around Helsinki. When she went upstairs in search of warm clothing, she found a blue and white scarf lying in a cupboard. At home, it would have looked like a football scarf, but in fact, it represented the national colours of this proud Scandinavian nation. The white scarf tails bounced on her back as she walked down the Ehrenstromsvagen beside the sea. The waves were at rest, and she imagined the low-lying islands would submerge if it became stormy. A multitude of these islands surrounded the capital’s southern flank. Seabirds comprising gannets, razorbills and gulls darted and soared all around the coast; there were also plenty of people relaxing.
The Finnish language was strange to Hilda’s ear. It had Germanic overtones, but the influences were also perhaps Estonian, a country now swallowed up by the Russian advance. There would be little point in her learning to speak Finnish. The English language had invaded the capital, and on the streets, many spoke their national language with many English words thrown in. Francis’ terms of appointment would no doubt lead him elsewhere before too long. That was just as well, as Finnish sounded a difficult language to master. Besides, there was no incentive to learn more than a smattering of words or phrases, just as she had done in Portugal. Where might they be after Finland she wondered? For a moment, she dreamt of Pacific islands, Caribbean banana crops or treks in the Peruvian Andes. Only time would tell. The Helsinki posting might turn out to be short-lived, but it would become very special to them both.
She asked for directions to Helsinki Cathedral. The walking distance involved proved to be longer than anticipated. This was where Francis had arranged for them to be married. She went inside. The organ was playing but no service was taking place. She sat down on a pew and reflected on her new life to the ethereal music.
She remembered a quotation from Heraclitus: ‘War was the father of all things.’ It seemed to her that the world needed to shed blood from time to time. New borders were now forged, and fathers would tell sons of their adventures so that their children could tell their children. Twice Germany had fallen to its knees, and this time it had lost its eastern border. Surely, it had learnt its lesson. Germany would not conceivably start another war. Supervision and safeguards allowing to anticipate conflict and defuse aggression were required. There was talk of even more international bodies making rules. She was optimistic about the new United Nations which was receiving frequent positive coverage in the papers. Its members would surely strive to prevent such conflict recurring.
Hilda had lived through two wars now, and she was weary. She was glad that she had survived both. Yes, but at what price? A wonderful loving family was no longer there. Yet now here she was, on the brink of a new beginning. The swelling cathedral music seemed to say to her, be at peace my child; I will give you peace.
Two weeks later, on a crisp December morning, as she sat at the embassy waiting for transport to take her to church, she felt fresh, invigorated and ready to take Sir Francis Shepherd’s hand in marriage. Colin Hunter, the deputy ambassador, a bachelor and the most handsome of Sir Francis’ staff, stood ready to accompany her to the wedding and lead her down the aisle.
‘I’ve never done this before,’ he admitted.
‘I’ve only done it once, and a long time ago. Makes us both inexperienced, I suppose.’
Colin laughed. ‘You’re one ahead of me. I only hope I let go of you at the right moment.’
They laughed again, and then looked at each other reprovingly. Marriage was a serious matter, after all.
‘That’s the car driving up. No turning back now. Let’s go, Colin.’
He stood up, set off then stopped in his tracks and swivelled round to face her.
‘Miss Campbell, or Frau Richter, whichever you prefer, Sir Francis will make a fine husband. I know he will. He will make you as happy as you make him.’
She patted his arm gently, smiling to show she agreed with him.
As they approached the cathedral, she heard the unmistakable groans of the bagpipes. The car stopped at the foot of the cathedral steps, and Colin took her arm as they proceeded up to the huge doorway, on either side of which stood a piper playing A Wee Sprig o’ Heather. Francis had clearly had a hand in the selection of the music. When she reached the top step, she turned to show her appreciation to the pipers and the Finnish crowd that had gathered outside. Then the thunderous tones of the Edvard Friedrich Walckeer organ began to play Mendelssohn’s Wedding March from A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
She walked down the aisle clinging to Colin’s arm. With his other hand he gave her a reassuring pat to calm her nerves as she saw Francis turn to watch her progress down the aisle. He looked very smart in his tails, and she hoped she would not let him down in the dress she had chosen. She assumed everyone present knew she was a widow, so would not be wearing the traditional white dress, but her powder blue long dress met with smiles as she progressed.
In the congregation were diplomats wearing their regalia and medals. It seemed Helsinki’s embassy staff felt they had something to celebrate that cold afternoon. It occurred to her that this was the first happy formal occasion they had attended since the war ended. Ladies in glittering tiaras turned and smiled as she made her way down the aisle. She looked forward to chatting with them at the reception. Women of her own age had been rare in her life over the past few years, and she needed that comradeship. Then, with a fluttering heart, she found herself standing beside the man she was about to marry.
She retained little memory of the details of the church service and even the signing the marriage certificate, but she vividly recalled leaving the church to the strains of the organ playing Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring. When they passed through the great arch at the front of the cathedral, the organ stopped and the pipes resumed their more raucous melodies as they proceeded down the steps to an open landau carriage. The horses’ clip-clopped back to the embassy under blue skies. Following a sumptuous meal with rowdy laughter at the groom’s witty speech, the couple danced till after midnight.
Their short honeymoon touring Sweden and Denmark just before Christmas made her realise just how fortunate she had become.
Francis was a caring and loving husband. He opened her mind to the wonders of the diplomatic world, and she surprised herself by how quickly she adapted to the elegant life of an ambassador’s wife. Her days as a reluctant spy were well and truly over.
One mid morning, shortly after the optimistic New Year was a few days old, she was enjoying coffee with a honey-coated waffle in the lounge. The skies were bright; but the sunshine was not present for very long at this time of year. A few unthreatening clouds could be seen through the window. A silent world lay before her as she looked out beyond the embassy grounds towards a misty far-off hillside. She should have been happy. She had found her feet and the adventure of embassy life had just begun. Perhaps, in the future, they would explore new countries still finding their feet after the war. That would give her life a renewed purpose.
However, today she was sad. Tears began to fall down her cheeks, and doubts assailed her. Had she really earned this position? Would she not be better employed translating German texts in a new Europe or, working as a teacher of modern languages at a school somewhere? A few quiet sobs accompanied her thoughts because in each scenario she saw Otto smiling at her, no longer a soldier in uniform, but a young man making his way in the world with his lovely Gisela on his arm.